


Lost Boys

by Timeless A-Peel (timelessapeel)



Series: The New Avengers Arc [1]
Category: New Avengers (TV)
Genre: Action, Adventure, Friendship, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-05
Updated: 2012-01-05
Packaged: 2017-10-29 00:39:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 19,879
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/313926
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/timelessapeel/pseuds/Timeless%20A-Peel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Episode Zero. Stuck in a routine, John Steed looks for an escape and agrees to work with a new agent, Mike Gambit. But Gambit isn't interested in a partnership, even with Steed. His reasons why may mean the pair have more in common than they thought.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Teaser

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I don't own The New Avengers, nor the characters of Mike Gambit and John Steed. Sadly. They're the property of The Avengers (Film and TV) Enterprises. This story is for entertainment purposes only.
> 
> Timeline: Zero in a series. Takes place in June, 1975, a full ten months before the start of the TV series. Those interested in the rest of the series are invited to read the subsequent stories in the arc.
> 
> For more information about the series, please see my profile.
> 
> \--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

John Steed woke up. This was not in itself a bad thing. In fact, seen from most angles, it was undeniably good. It meant no one had slid a knife between his ribs while he slept, that his lifestyle hadn't caught up with him, that the food at the restaurant last night hadn't been bad. No, on the whole John Steed didn't mind waking up, provided it wasn't too early. But the exact time of his return to the land of the conscious was causing him a mild degree of annoyance. That was because it was 8: 23. The same time as yesterday. And the day before that. And the day before that.

And what was wrong with that? some may have asked Steed as he pushed back the bedclothes and swung his lemon silk pajama-clad legs over the edge of the bed and stretched. It meant his body was on a schedule, it was consistent. He was in a routine.

Routine. That was the dreaded word, a word no agent, certainly not John Steed, was comfortable with, certainly not when he was describing himself. In fact, one of the main features of a career in espionage was that one's life never settled into a routine, or at least, not for very long. But John Steed, though he hated to admit it, was in a routine, and had been for something like two and a half years. He glanced at a wall calendar as he passed on the way to the bathroom. Yes, June 17, 1975. Thirty months since the last major upset in his way of life, the breaking of the last routine.


	2. Farewell, My Dear

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I don't own The New Avengers, nor the characters of Mike Gambit and John Steed. Sadly. They're the property of The Avengers (Film and TV) Enterprises. Tara King and Emma Peel belong to Canal+Image. This story is for entertainment purposes only.
> 
> Timeline: Zero in a series. Takes place in June, 1975, a full ten months before the start of the TV series. Those interested in the rest of the series are invited to read the subsequent stories in the arc.
> 
> For more information about the series, please see my profile.

He'd known the day was coming. Even the lowliest Ministry file clerk could have predicted the ringing of the doorbell, the news it brought. But he had still felt a twinge of melancholy, and did again as he stripped off the pajamas and stepped into the shower. It was difficult not to. He remembered it as though it were yesterday, the memories crystal clear.

It was October 12, 1972, and the rumours had been circulating for months. Steed had heard every iteration by this point, from whispered conversations in the file room to idle gossip in the corridors. And today John Steed clattered down the narrow curving staircase in the Mews flat and made for the door. He glanced quickly through one of the windows bracketing the door before answering. It paid to be careful in this business. Not answering the door was by no means a guarantee that one wouldn't end up with a couple of bullets through the chest, but it certainly didn't give anyone a chance to aim very well, either. But Steed had no fears on that front. He smiled at the tall, shapely silhouette currently loitering in the corridor, before turning the latch.

"Tara," Steed greeted, extending an arm and indicating for her to enter. Tara King smiled faintly and did so, but not before Steed noticed the angst-filled green eyes, nor the tentativeness with which she crossed the threshold, as though part of her was inclined to turn and flee. Her demeanour was, on the whole, much more suited to a day back in 1968, to a young agent who had yet to finish her training. Nothing like the accomplished young woman who had come into her own in a few short years. But even an uncharacteristic bout of timidness couldn't hide the changes, not only the shoulder-length brown hair which owed nothing to wigs, but the way she walked, even now, with a grace and economy of movement that could only be gained from a few years in the field. She'd come a long way. But Steed knew she still had a long way to go.

Starting today.

"It's lovely to see you," Steed enthused, closing the door and following her into the living room. "Have a seat. Can I get you something?"

Tara shook her head, electing to stand. "No, thank you, Steed," she demurred. "It's not a social call. I came—" She paused, bit her lip, took a deep breath. "I came because I have something important I needed to discuss with you."

"Oh?" Steed gave the girl his full attention, saw the way she was fiddling nervously with her hands. "Is anything wrong?"

"Yes. No. I mean, not really. But…" Tara sighed, threw up her hands in frustration. "Oh, Steed, I'm sorry."

Steed stepped in closer, put a hand on her shoulder. "Whatever for?"

Tara sighed. "Betraying you." At Steed's raised eyebrow she hurried on. "Not literally," she added, well-aware of all the connotations 'betrayal' had in their business, none of which were terribly pleasant. "But that's how it feels."

"Now, Miss King, you know as well as I do that you'd never betray anyone, so whatever it is you feel guilty about, I'm sure I'll understand."

Tara laughed, but there was no hunour in it. "Will you? Really? Because I feel just terrible. You see, I had an offer. The Ministry wants an overseas liaison to coordinate with various foreign intelligence agencies. They move you from place to place as you're needed."

Steed smiled. He knew what was coming, had always known, but he let Tara take it at her own pace, let her break it to him her way. "It sounds like a fantastic opportunity."

"It is," Tara agreed, biting her lip. "That's why I accepted it."

Steed's expression didn't waver. "I know," he said evenly.

Tara's green eyes widened in surprise, but then she smiled in spite of herself. "Of course you do," she said knowingly. "Don't tell me you had Mother offer it to me?"

"Of course not," Steed assured. "Mother knows as well as anyone that you've done some excellent work with our foreign contacts. You know how to talk to people, Tara. You keep things civil, and someone who can grease the wheels of international cooperation is an invaluable asset. I'm sure you'll be marvelous." He meant it, too. Tara had a way with people. She was friendly and approachable, and never put on airs. People told her things it would take hours and a few drops of truth serum to be dragged out by anyone else. And the best part was, she enjoyed it. He'd always known Tara wasn't wired to be a killer. That was not to say she couldn't kill—she had, and did so, very efficiently if the situation warranted it. But it bothered her more than some, and Steed had found it harder and harder to ignore the lines that appeared around her mouth when her lips pursed and her eyes couldn't tear away from the body.

Tara smiled at the praise, but cast her eyes downwards. "But no one told you?" she asked quietly.

"No one needed to," Steed replied. "I know you've been spreading your wings lately. Running assignments with the others and taking courses. You're a talented young woman, Tara. You can't be expected to stay here."

"But I feel so horrible for leaving you," Tara murmured, blinking back tears. "Oh, Steed, there was a time I thought I'd stay with you forever."

Steed shook his head, thumbed away the one tear she couldn't hold back. "There's no such thing as forever, Tara. Less so in this line of work."

"But still. I thought…I mean, you taught me so much. You taught me everything, Steed. I wouldn't be able to do this job if you hadn't been there to help me along. I didn't think I'd ever be able to turn my back on that, not in all my days. But now…"

"You're not beholden to me, Tara. I taught you because I knew you had potential, and I wanted you to succeed as an agent." He smiled. "And because I liked you."

Tara smiled back. "The feeling was more than mutual, believe me. And that makes it all the harder. I think I'll always love you Steed. But I don't love you, not anymore. And I don't think I can stay on and pretend that I haven't changed."

"I know. I've seen this coming for some time," Steed assured.

"Of course you have. But still…"

"Don't feel sorry, Tara. Everyone has to move on with their lives, you included. It's only natural." Despite his assurances, he could tell she still felt guilty, but John Steed could be persistently upbeat, and it was often contagious. "Do you mind if I ask where your first posting is?"

"France," Tara revealed, and he saw a little spark of enthusiasm behind the guilt. "I'm already practicing my accent."

"Sounds perfect for you. I'll give you the addresses of one or two cafes I know of, if you'd like."

Tara nodded. "I would. Very much. But what will you do?"

"Oh, I'll manage. I have before," Steed said airily. "I didn't always have you to look after me."

"No, someone else was doing a very good job," Tara said knowingly, and Steed didn't have to look to know her gaze had gone distant, and the image of Emma Peel descending a staircase was filling her mind's eye. "But I'm not leaving just yet," she said after a moment, as though Emma had steeled her resolve. "I start at the beginning of the new year, so we've got a little time left together."

"Excellent!" Steed exclaimed. "Let's make the most of it and go out for dinner. My treat."

Tara watched him gather up his bowler and brolly. "You know there's change brewing at the Ministry?" she said after a moment. "Mother's resigning, and everything's going to be reshuffled when the new man takes over."

"Yes, I know," Steed informed, placing the bowler on his head and giving it a jaunty tap. "Tommy McKay. He's an old friend, not liable to have me drawn and quartered. Don't fret, Tara. I'll be fine. Really."

She threw her arms around his neck and hugged him tight, just like in the old days. "I hope so."


	3. Reality Sets In

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I don't own The New Avengers, nor the characters of Mike Gambit, John Steed, and Thomas McKay. Sadly. They're the property of The Avengers (Film and TV) Enterprises. Tara King and Emma Peel belong to Canal+Image. I suppose Peter Peel does, too, although is anyone really fighting for ownership of poor Peter? Anyway, this story is for entertainment purposes only. No copyright infringement intended.
> 
> Timeline: Zero in a series. Takes place in June, 1975, a full ten months before the start of the TV series. Those interested in the rest of the series are invited to read the subsequent stories in the arc.
> 
> For more information about the series, please see my profile.  
> \------------------------------------------

Steed stepped out of the shower, wrapped a towel around his middle, and faced the mirror so he could set about lathering up for shaving. He hadn't lied to Tara. He had been fine, at least at first. After all, he'd had several partners over the years, and he'd always been able to locate a replacement after the departure of the last. Only now the selection was limited. The Ministry had changed its regulations back in 1967 so as to no longer permit so-called "talented amateurs" to work on assignments, a bureaucratic decision Steed had argued forcefully against at the time. After all, all of his partners up until that point had been drawn not from the Ministry's stables, but were instead the more extraordinary examples of the general population. Steed found it refreshing to work with someone outside the confines of the organization, and with more choice came a better chance of finding a partner with which one could really "click." He lost the argument, but kept Emma Peel, who was, by then, such a fixture in the department that even the powers-that-be were loathe to let her go. At the time, holding on to Emma was more than enough. If she was keen to continue, Steed saw no reason why he should be bothered by the regulations at any time in the near-future. But no one had anticipated the return of Peter Peel, least of all his wife. Despite the fact that Steed and Emma had known each other almost as long as Emma had been married, Emma's title had always served as a reminder that she had made a legal vow that preceded any bonds formed on the field. And so Mrs. Emma Peel had walked out of his life to reunite with her husband, and John Steed found himself in need of a new partner. Now the regulations made themselves heard, and for the first time Steed couldn't scout out a replacement on his own according to his tastes. He wasn't even certain he wanted to. Replacing Emma was…different, tinged with a slight hint of betrayal. There would never be another one like her. It was lucky Mother was thinking straight at the time, had known to give him Tara, someone who needed enough attention to keep him busy, because Steed certainly hadn't been thinking straight that day when he watched Emma climb into a car with…him….and drive away into what turned out to be a not-so-happily ever after. She divorced Peter in 1973, a few months after Tara had left for France, ironically, but even after reading the news in the society column, Steed couldn't muster up the courage to call her. Too many years. Too many old feelings. And yes, maybe he was a little bitter that he'd lost out to his own doppelganger all those years ago. But John Steed prided himself on never looking back. Experience had taught him the hard way that most things were better left in the past.

Instead, he set about finding a new partner, aligning himself with various Ministry agents on a non-exclusive basis. He preferred working with women, but even in that day and age they were still greatly outnumbered by their male cohorts, just as they were now. This meant he collaborated out of necessity with several male partners as well. On the rare occasion he was able to reunite with Tara's one-time vacation replacement, Lady Diana Forbes-Blakeney, and at times he felt as thought he recaptured something of his old partnerships, but alas, despite any number of talented agents, he didn't feel any magic chemistry, or productive conflict, or much of anything, with any of them.

Come June of 1973, McKay had called him to his office. Steed washed his face and slapped on some aftershave before returning to his bedroom to dress. His old friend had taken over the reins of the Ministry, and was in the process of reorganizing the department to his liking. Tommy was a tough old nut, had to be the way his leg still throbbed from the bullet that had never been completely removed, but even he was overwhelmed by the sheer volume of tasks and problems that needed sorting. Thus, he turned to one man he knew he could trust when it came time to make a major appointment.

"I'm going to start assigning agents to units," he told Steed over brandy. "Several of them, each with headed up with a supervisor. I need someone to coordinate Ministry activity, dole out assignments, collect reports, guide investigations, that sort of thing. The department's too damn big, and I'm too old, to go chasing after every greenhorn so I can send him off to the wars. Not all of us have an Amazon to take our calls"

"And you want me to head one of these units?" Steed surmised, recalling the formidable Rhonda with a slight smile.

McKay nodded. "I know I can trust you to be strict when the situation warrants, and say to hell with the rules when it's not. And a lot of our boys are still trained with at least one eye toward emulating you, although hopefully not your use of the expense account."

"Well, it's not really my line," Steed pointed out not bothering to defend that one. Mother had grumbled about his spending habits as well, but never followed through on his threats, and he doubted Tommy would, either. After all, what was the point of being "the Great John Steed" if you didn't get a few perks out of the job?

"I know you don't want to drive a desk, John, but neither did I, and I didn't have much choice in the matter. Anyway, I'm not asking you to give up field work. Far from it. I expect you'll have a hand in at least some of the assignments you send the boys out on. But I need someone here to help hold the fort, someone who knows what he's doing. Obviously I'll have a few others running similar teams as well, but you're anyone's choice for top man. And it'll give me a reason to fob off the bureaucrats when they start harping at me about your retirement."

Steed knew he had a point, that soon someone was going to do the math and wonder why a man over fifty was still running around in the line of fire when there was plenty of fresh young cannon fodder to be found. And Tommy was badly in need of help. He hadn't made a decision right then and there, but he'd known even as he left that there was no avoiding it.

He took the job.

Roughly around the same time that he received his new office, a letter arrived in the mail informing him that his rock-cake mad Auntie Penelope had decided to pass her elaborate old manor house out in the country to her favourite nephew. Steed had driven out to inspect the property, and immediately saw the potential for a long-held dream to become a reality. A stud farm, with plenty of grounds to exercise all those horses he'd always promised himself after retirement. Why not now? Besides, he reasoned, it would make a good base of operations. Any niggling feelings about being put out to pasture were pushed aside. He busied himself in his new post and threw himself into the renovations. At first the change was rather nice. He could fob assignments and reports off to his stable of agents, and that left plenty of time to work on the farm and bring it up to the Steed standard. He moved his things from Stable Mews and took great delight in decorating and acquiring new furniture for his infinitely larger new living space. And so the remainder of 1973 passed by quite pleasantly, and John Steed was too busy with other things to notice that his time in the field had shrunk dramatically.

Time passed. 1974 rolled around, and Steed was able to hold a fabulous New Year's gathering in his new abode, now ready to be debuted to the public. But when the party was long over and the guests had all gone, John Steed decided to venture back out into the wonderful world of fieldwork and start earning his keep again. The only problem was he'd been a mite too efficient in organizing his stable of agents into a force capable of taking on any assignment he threw at them, a group who waved off all his offers to assist beyond the radio contacts and other such passive roles he had become accustomed to playing. Between them and their partners, they were doing just fine. That left John Steed doling out adventures that once upon a time Mother, or One-Ten, or Charles, had doled out to him. And who did that make John Steed? Mother? Charles? One-Ten? Crusty older men who had entered the job young and brash and been spat out the other end, grim, less-than-sunny in temperament, and no longer surprised at what this line of work had to offer? Was that what he was now, a bitter old has-been?

Steed sighed as he straightened his tie. Technically McKay was filling that position now, but Steed wasn't entirely certain he wasn't following his old friend's lead. He wandered out into the house and to the kitchen, found the cup of tea Mrs. Weir customarily left him. It constituted his breakfast. As Mrs. Peel had observed all those years ago, he didn't eat breakfast. This was true. He drank it.

The tea went fast, and Steed took the paper with him to read in the office. Today wasn't supposed to be terribly trying, just as the last week had been. Everyone was on assignment and making good progress, everything was ticking over as it should. Steed climbed into his Jaguar, turned key and allowed himself a small smile at the sound of the engine coughing to life. Even the Jaguar was running smoothly with the smallest of inputs from him. He started down the drive, switched gears and sped up. Maybe, as far as the Ministry was concerned, John Steed was redundant. But hell, he could still handle a car.


	4. The Offer

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I don't own The New Avengers, nor the characters of Mike Gambit, John Steed, and Thomas McKay. Sadly. They're the property of The Avengers (Film and TV) Enterprises. Tara King belongs to Canal+Image. This story is for entertainment purposes only. No copyright infringement intended.
> 
> Timeline: Zero in a series. Takes place in June, 1975, a full ten months before the start of the TV series. Those interested in the rest of the series are invited to read the subsequent stories in the arc.
> 
> For more information about the series, please see my profile.
> 
> \-----------------------------------------------

Steed was actually feeling a bit better by the time he reached the Ministry. After all, there was nothing particularly pressing today, and he could have a nice relaxing morning reading the paper in his office, maybe take an early lunch, and put in an hour or two before going home and putting the horses through their paces. There were some perks in having the top job, he had to admit.

The girl at reception desk smiled at him as he signed in, but her colleague, phone to her ear, gestured for him to wait. She crisply informed the caller on the other end of the line that she 'understood,' and hung up before turning to the senior agent.

"McKay would like to see you," she told him, and Steed nodded in reply.

"I'm sure he does. Tell him I'll be there just as soon as I've the time."

The girl shook her head. "You're to see him immediately. Straight there. Do not stop at your office."

"Do not pass go. Do not collect 200 pounds," Steed quipped, but the girl was a humourless sort and simply arched a well-tended eyebrow. Steed doffed his bowler and turned to stride toward the lifts, widening his eyes and breathing our dramatically as he did so. McKay had the tough ones on the front lines, now. Even the imposing Rhonda hadn't possessed a stare quite like that.

Steed did as he was told, which was a rarity. He took the lift straight up to McKay's floor and made for the man's office without dallying. A quick knock on his door, and the voice of his old friend beckoned him to enter.

"Ah, Steed," Thomas McKay greeted from behind his desk, eyes flicking up from a stack of paperwork. "Thank you for being so prompt. I was expecting you to take a good fifteen minutes' grace."

"I thought about it," Steed admitted, taking a seat across for the Ministry's top man and plopping his newspaper onto the desktop. "But I doubt the lady manning the fort would have approved."

"Ah, yes, Lydia," McKay replied with a certain degree of self-satisfaction. "Yes, she's quite good. Keeps our younger boys in line. I'm thinking of putting her up for interrogation duty."

"Bit unsporting for the other side," Steed mused, removing his bowler and letting it join the paper and his brolly on McKay's desktop. "Now then, what did you want to see me about?"

McKay leaned back in his chair. "I want to ask a favour, John," he revealed.

Steed arched an eyebrow. "If I recall correctly, you asked me a favour back in 1973. It got me an office."

McKay smirked. "Yes, I know you've been less than thrilled with your lot of late, and believe me, I sympathise. But I think this favour might redeem me in your eyes, at least a little. I want you to do a job."

Steed felt his heart leap, tried his best to maintain a calm exterior. "Field work?"

"After a fashion. Surveillance. I know. Terribly elementary stuff. But it's not so much who I want you to watch as who I want you to watch it with."

Steed's eyebrow climbed higher. This was getting interesting. "Oh? Anyone I know?"

"Possibly." McKay slid a file toward him. "Are you familiar with Mike Gambit?"

"Gambit?" Steed took the file and opened it, pulled out an 8x10 of dark, curly-haired man, early-thirties, with piercing eyes and an intimidating line of a mouth. "Slightly," he told McKay. "I've encountered him in one or two training classes, and I know several of my men have worked with him at one time or another. By all accounts a very talented agent. Keeps the typing pool amused." He'd heard almost as many murmurings about Gambit's love life as he had his assignments, and Steed had wondered how long it would be before the man's discipline cracked and the job started to suffer. Then again, Steed wasn't one to talk when it came to the female of the species. "He joined up a few years ago, didn't he?" he added, trying to keep the grin off his lips.

"Late in '73, yes," McKay agreed. "A very talented applicant. Possessed an impressive array of skills long before he went anywhere near one of our training courses. Deadly, efficient, quick off the mark…"

"He sounds like quite a find. Why do you want me in the picture?" Steed wanted to know.

McKay sighed, leaned forward and laced his fingers. "He has a tendency to be a bit too…how shall I put it? Rambunctious? There are times when he would benefit from taking a step back and analyzing the situation. Instead he steps in and takes the consequences, or should I say, his body does. He needs to learn a little more patience."

Steed put his head to one side. "Surely his partner should be a stabilizing influence?"

"That's the other problem," McKay said tiredly. "He doesn't want a partner. Oh he's worked with others, worked a great deal. And he works well. He gets on fine with many of the other agents, some of yours included. Many of them like him, have a friendly spar in the gym. No, he can work with a partner. But the point is he doesn't want to. He's reluctant. If you order him to collaborate with someone, he'll do it dutifully, but he'll take every opportunity to run things solo. He liked his solo missions in his early training days, and he's learned how to pick up assignments in such a way that he has to follow as few orders as possible. You may never get a chance to fire them off." McKay sighed. "He's a good agent, John. I think he could be one of our best. Perhaps the best in, oh-"

"Fifteen years?" Steed supplied, well aware McKay was doing the math in his head. "Since me, in fact?"

"Don't get the wrong idea, John. I know better than to try and replace you, particularly if I want to live to collect my pension. But he's got great promise, and if he only had someone to smooth out the rough edges, I don't know that anyone else here could match him."

"And you want me to play mentor?" Steed inferred. "Just like with Tara?"

"More than with Miss King," McKay corrected. "Tara King was completely new to the game, fresh slate, young and innocent. Gambit's not innocent. That's half the reason he's as good as he is. In our job that's usually a good thing. Keeps a man from falling apart. The problem is, Gambit's already done that."

Steed sat up a little straighter, suddenly intrigued. "Oh?"

McKay sighed, leaned back in his chair. "You know as well as I do that our agents' biographies are top secret, and only divulged to anyone on a need-to-know basis?"

Steed nodded. "Of course. I presume I need to know?"

"Just the basics. You see, Gambit didn't come to us without a price. All those skills, they filled out his repertoire. But he didn't come to us whole."

Steed sucked his teeth, mind already dancing over all the possibilities. He knew men who had encountered more than their fair share of hardship. In some ways he counted himself among them. "Go on…"

McKay cleared his throat. "Gambit suffered a severe trauma a few years ago. It left him physically and mentally drained. I won't say it broke him, because if it did we wouldn't have accepted him, but he spent over a year rebuilding, and when he came to us he was still suffering some of the side-effects. Our resident psychologist ran the usual tests. He came up clean. He's not psychopathic, not irrational, not prone to fits or blind panic at the first sign of stress. But it has changed him. He's come to rely on himself because for a very long time he was all he had to rely on. And that makes him shrug off fellow agents, and occasionally, I think it pushes him to take the confrontational route when subtlety might be better. He's pushing himself, John, but not always in the right ways. He's pushing to survive, to prove to himself that he can do it."

"And you want me to push him the right way?" Steed mused. "What makes you think I'm the best choice?"

"Oh, you have more in common than you know, John," McKay said darkly. "Much, much more. If anyone can make him believe it's better not to take this job on alone, it's you."

"I see." McKay's expression made Steed uneasy, but clearly the man wasn't going to divulge the source of Gambit's upset. "What do you want me to do?"

"Take him on surveillance. Talk to him. Get into his head. See if you can't persuade him to listen to you, and maybe, to stick close. If you can get him into a partnership, willing to work with someone, to listen, I'll be happy. You work well with partners, John. I think you're his best chance."

"I may fail," Steed pointed out, although he was interested now, and determined that he wouldn't. Gambit was a challenge, and Steed needed one of those badly. But he wanted to know just what it was about him in particular that McKay thought the younger man would connect with. "What happens then?"

McKay sighed. "If you can't help him, then I give up. Let him play things his own way. Tell him I'll quit pushing for him to find a partner. But he has to work with you until you're satisfied that he's a lost cause." He smiled wryly. "Don't bother playing hard to get, John. I know you want a mystery and a ticket out of the office. This is it."

Steed looked back at Gambit's picture, smiled at the defiant eyes. "Where can I find him?"

McKay's grin widened. "Exactly where he doesn't want to be."


	5. Face to Face

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I don't own The New Avengers, nor the characters of Mike Gambit, John Steed, and Thomas McKay. Sadly. They're the property of The Avengers (Film and TV) Enterprises. Tara King belongs to Canal+Image. This story is for entertainment purposes only. No copyright infringement intended.
> 
> Timeline: Zero in a series. Takes place in June, 1975, a full ten months before the start of the TV series. Those interested in the rest of the series are invited to read the subsequent stories in the arc.
> 
> For more information about the series, please see my profile.
> 
> \-----------------------------------------------

Steed made his way down the Ministry corridor toward Dr. James Kendrick's office. According to McKay, Gambit was long overdue for his physical. Apparently he made a habit of evading the good doctor's best attempts at pulling him in, and Steed knew from experience that Kendrick was a hard man to shake. Steed only knew of one other man who had managed to hold him off, and right now he was looking for Mike Gambit. Steed smiled to himself. Maybe he and Gambit had something in common after all.

He rounded the corner just in time to see Kendrick's door open, and a man step out, still shrugging on his coat. Steed recognized the silhouette immediately as Gambit's. He was followed by a very annoyed looking Kendrick, who hovered in the doorway giving his patient his best 'do as I say' look. His patient didn't seem to notice. Or didn't care. He did up his jacket buttons unconcernedly.

"So, clean bill of health, then, Doctor?" he asked, and Kendrick's scowl deepened despite the positive diagnosis.

"Yes, yes, you're in top physical condition," he almost snapped. Gambit smiled grimly.

"You didn't need to spend all that time chasing me down, then, did you?" he pointed out. "I could have told you I was in good shape."

"We could have saved ourselves a great deal of time if you'd come in when I asked," Kendrick retorted, looking tired now. "It's only a physical. I don't see what all the fuss is about."

"You're not the one with an arm full of holes," Gambit said ruefully, rubbing the inside of his elbow.

"If you came in more often I wouldn't have to give you all the inoculations at once," Kendrick reminded. "Look, just come in when I ask next time. I'm getting too old to chase you lads around. If you want to fall apart in your fifties, that's your prerogative. Just don't come whinging to me." He turned on his heel, and was about to go back inside his office, when he spotted Steed. "Ah, Steed, I don't suppose you're here for your check-up as well?"

"I'm afraid not, Kendrick," Steed said with as much regret as he could muster. "I've urgent business with your reluctant patient here."

Gambit froze and eyed Steed warily. Kendrick snorted and shook his head. "I'd get on with it, then, while you can still see him. Ten seconds and he'll be halfway across the building before you know what's happened."

"I'll bear that in mind," Steed murmured, never taking his eyes off Gambit.

"Better you than me," Kendrick replied, and shut the surgery door behind him.

Gambit was still regarding Steed with suspicion, and Steed took a moment to reacquaint himself with the man. He'd only encountered Gambit a handful of times—in training classes, the file room, cafeteria, what have you. He was tall, about Steed's height, a bit more in the Cuban heels that were currently the fashion. The hair was black and curly, worn a little long, but cut at the back so it only just skimmed the collar. The eyes, currently cold, shifted from blue to green depending on which way the light hit them, and the nose featured a very pronounced bump that Steed knew was courtesy of at least one breakage, perhaps more. The top lip was curved in such a way that a sneer would come easily, although Gambit wasn't taking advantage of that fact just now. But the most important thing was Gambit was well-built. Slim, but not skinny, a lean, sinewy take on muscular, just visible beneath the well-tailored pin-stripe suit. Gambit would be fast when he needed to, and strong, someone who could handle himself in the field. But what Steed really wanted to know was behind those eyes.

"You want me?" Gambit's voice was clipped, and the accent bore vague hints of a cockney that had been suppressed either by accident or design. Gambit hadn't been born into his well-cut suits and leather boots. Steed filed that information away for further reference.

"Yes," he confirmed, beaming beatifically. "Allow me to introduce myself. I'm John Steed."

"I know who you are," Gambit said shortly. The man was most definitely on the defensive, blue-green eyes sizing Steed up much the way the senior agent had him.

Steed's smile faded ever-so-slightly at the tone, but he chose not to change tactics just yet. "Yes, we've crossed paths once or twice. I wasn't certain you'd remembered."

Gambit snorted, and a trace of humour flitted over the rugged features. "Bit hard to forget. Your picture's burned into my brain from all the textbooks and training manuals. The great John Steed, and his legendary succession of lovely sidekicks." Gambit spoke it with flourish, as though reading it off an imaginary page. "Follow the John Steed method, and you're sure to succeed."

Steed arched an eyebrow. "And have you?"

Gambit shrugged slightly. "Well, I'm not dead yet, am I? But then I've learned more than my share of tricks over the years."

"Yes, I imagine you have," Steed murmured. Gambit had the quiet sort of deadliness Steed himself was known for, only it lurked closer to the surface in Mike Gambit. Much as it had in John Steed circa 1963. In some ways the resemblance was quite strong, right down to the professional-looking pinstripes.

Gambit's eyes lost a little of their newfound friendliness. "Been checking up on me?"

Steed widened his eyes, the picture of innocence. "Of course not! You know as well as I do that agent biographies are classified, only released on a need-to-know basis."

Gambit smirked humourlessly. "Right. And how much did you need to know?"

"Only what McKay saw fit to tell me," Steed admitted, and Gambit shook his head and glanced briefly at the floor, jaw working slightly. "Which wasn't very much, to tell you the truth."

"I should have known," Gambit said ruefully. "McKay's been on my back for months now. What's he got a bee in his bonnet about this time? You can see I've just been to Kendrick, so if it's my medical, he can relax. And I know for a fact that I've filed all my reports." He eyed Steed up again. "But it has to be bigger than that, because John Steed wouldn't be playing office boy. What's he got in mind this time?"

"Oh, nothing too taxing," Steed said lightly, brandishing the file McKay had given him. "I've a little surveillance task, and I could use some assistance."

"Ha, ha." The laugh short and staccato, and not meant to convey any genuine amusement. Gambit's jaw was really working now. "I should have known. Let me guess. 'Good old Gambit. Fine agent. If only he'd get himself a partner, he'd have the enemy quaking in his boots. Some sort of stabilizing influence. Temperance. Too reckless. Too much time fraternizing with the typing pool.' I'm right, aren't I?" Steed's expression was nondescript, and Gambit knew he had him. "McKay must be really desperate if he's set you on me."

Steed glanced at the file, then back at Gambit, decided on the straight-forward approach. "Yes," he agreed, and could see Gambit was slightly taken aback by his forthrightness. "Yes, you might say he's reached the end of his rope. Good news, then. I'm the last person standing in the way of you and your freedom."

Gambit looked interested now, eyes lighting up at the possibilities. "You can get him to let me work solo?"

"Yes," Steed repeated. "But on one condition. You have to work with me first. Run this assignment, maybe more if I don't have enough information to make a decision. If, in my opinion, you really are better suited to working on your own, then I will happily tell McKay, and you will never be pestered about the issue again."

Gambit's eyes narrowed again. "What's the catch?"

Steed shook his head. "There isn't one. I've told you everything. There's no secret agenda."

Gambit shook his head. "Oh, no. No, not with John Steed there isn't. I've read the files. Master of the double-cross. That's you. There's always something else going on when it's you. It's never that straight-forward. There's always a game." Gambit moved in long quick strides until he was inches from the other man, face to face. "Let me be very, very clear. I've played the game. I've been manipulated by the men with the secret agenda, and oddly enough, I've had better times. So if it's all the same to you, I'll pass on the John Steed game and take my chances out in the field." With that, he turned on his heel and started off down the corridor. Steed watched him go silently, until he was almost out of earshot. Then, he said five short words.

"Was it in the navy?"

Gambit froze in his tracks, and Steed saw his back stiffen. He didn't say anything, but Steed knew the jaw would be working again, faster than ever before. He started toward him, at a slow, leisurely pace.

"It's the walk that gives you away. Only sailors rock like that, men who've spent a substantial amount of time at sea." He stopped just a few inches from Gambit's ear, behind him, facing the same way, looking past the man's shoulder to the corridor beyond.

"You're a hard man to figure out from what I've heard, Gambit," he went on, quietly, almost conversationally, but with an added edge that made Mike sit up and pay attention. Steed could feel the tension radiating off of him. "On the one hand you're very good about following orders, know all the regulations by the heart. When ordered to, you work incredibly well with a partner and display a great deal of leadership ability. And yet you seem to make a conscious effort to work on your own as much as possible, and put yourself in positions that make it very difficult for anyone to issue you orders. A sort of dichotomy."

"I like my independence," Gambit murmured by way of explanation.

"Some people do. But I've known my share of lone wolves. They never work in tandem, not without a great deal of difficultly, and they'll fight to be free every time. But you, you're much too good at it. You know how to conduct yourself too well. I don't deny you've an independent streak, but somewhere along the line you were part of a team, and you took it seriously." He paused for effect, let Gambit stew for a moment before carrying on. "Someone betrayed your trust along the way, didn't they? Someone in authority. Someone used you, and you've decided to give yourself as few chances to be used as possible. And now you're not going to put your fate in anyone's hands if you can help it."

Steed let the silence take over, let it encompass the younger man. This was the turning point. Steed's, for lack of a better word, gambit, could go two ways. Gambit would either accept that Steed had him beaten for the time being, and go with it, or he would throw his hypothesis, which, Steed had to admit, could very well be wrong, back in his face and Steed would lose any credibility he had left as far as the man was concerned. Which would be a pity, because Gambit was proving to be more interesting all the time.

Time ticked on. Steed waited. Gambit stewed. After a moment Steed wondered if he was even aware that he was still standing behind him. Then:

"How much do you know?" Gambit asked quietly.

Steed sighed, both in relief and weariness. "Does it matter? No matter what I say, you're convinced I'm playing games, so I won't disappoint you. I know something happened, and I know it's affecting how you work. And before you ask, yes, if I think you're too broken for this job, then I'll tell McKay so. That's what you've already decided I'm going to do, so I'll follow through."

Gambit spun around, eyes narrowed. "What do you want from me?"

"A few hours on surveillance. With me," Steed said mildly.

"So you can evaluate me?"

"If you like, yes. If I deem you to be better suited to solo ventures, then I'll say so, and I'll get McKay off your back as well. Just like I told you. Nothing more."

Gambit worked his jaw. "Do I have a choice?"

"Not really," Steed said with a disingenuous smile. "I'll collect you tomorrow, shall I? Your flat? At ten? Excellent. I'll see you then."

He sauntered off before Gambit could say a word.


	6. Speaking Terms

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I don't own The New Avengers, nor the characters of Mike Gambit, John Steed, and Thomas McKay. Sadly. They're the property of The Avengers (Film and TV) Enterprises. David Keel, Cathy Gale, Emma Peel, and Tara King belong to Canal+Image. This story is for entertainment purposes only. No copyright infringement intended.
> 
> Timeline: Zero in a series. Takes place in June, 1975, a full ten months before the start of the TV series. Those interested in the rest of the series are invited to read the subsequent stories in the arc.
> 
> For more information about the series, please see my profile.
> 
> \---------------------------------------------------------

It was half past seven in the morning. Outside the quiet flat, London was stirring. Cars passed, either on their way to an early engagement, or returning home after a very late night. A small sparrow fluttered across what was, to it the great chasm between two blocks of flats, landed on one flat's windowsill, and began chirping merrily.

Inside, Mike Gambit lay in his bed, sheets bunched around his waist, one arm folded under his head, the other draped carelessly over his bare stomach. The St. Christopher medallion around his neck was skewed, resting to the left of the hollow at the base of his throat. He was studying the ceiling with a distracted air. He'd been awake for quite some time, but he couldn't bring himself to climb out of bed. If he did, then he'd have officially started the day, and all that it brought with it. That included John Steed.

Gambit had heard the stories about Steed. More than heard. He'd read about him, which was an infinitely more reliable source of information, because unlike some green trainee agent repeating a third-hand rumour in the breakroom, the reports weren't prone to overblown exaggeration. Not that Steed's cases seemed to need much in the way of expansion. The man seemed to attract the strangest of the strange. Gambit had spent many an hour hiding away from whoever happened to be looking for him in the file rooms, wrapped up in one of Steed's old case files. They were better than a mystery paperback, and often more fantastic. He still couldn't quite wrap his brain around the mind-swapping machine, although it was infinitely more plausible than the man-eating plant from space. That one had to be some file clerk's idea of a joke. Didn't it? Gambit bit his lip and idly wondered what he would do if Steed asked him to fight off some very hostile—and hungry—vegetation. Perhaps a can of herbicide in the boot of the Range Rover wouldn't go amiss.

He'd done a little reading on Steed's partners, too. The man had had enough of them, all of whom seemed to move on of their own volition. It didn't seem to matter much—Steed always came up roses with a fresh one. Or at least he had. Gambit had noticed no one had stepped up to fill the empty position vacated by Tara King as of January 1, 1973. There had been a smattering of collaborations with the usual suspects in the Ministry's roster, but no one had lasted much longer than an assignment or two. Much like Gambit. Mike smiled to himself. Steed and he had that much in common at least, although he suspected the Ministry's new regulations concerning the so-called "talented amateurs" had more to do with it than any drive on Steed's part to be on his own. Steed had liked to source his own people. Now he had to make do with whatever was available in the Department's corridors. It was only a matter of time before Steed roped him in for a trial run for one reason or another. May as well get it over with. Gambit doubted he'd last much longer than any of the other Ministry boys. After all, Steed was fond of partners of the female persuasion. He hadn't had a male partner since…when was it? Gambit screwed up his face in thought, trying to remember that chapter in the textbook. 1961. That was it. Dr. Keel. David Keel. From the sounds of things, Steed and Keel had a love-hate relationship: Steed loved to use him, and Keel hated that. Apparently he'd gotten fed up one day and told Steed in no uncertain terms that his surgery was only for the patients who didn't stagger in with sucking chest wounds and spilled state secrets right before they died. There'd been a colleague of Keel's, a Dr. Martin King, who had been roped in as well, but his tenure with Steed had been even shorter, and just as fractious. Steed had converted to women after that, among them a certain Mrs. Emma Peel. Gambit knew as partners went, Emma Peel was a standard he could never hope to live up to, and his legs weren't nearly as interesting, either. Well, if you had to be beat, there were worse opponents than devastatingly beautiful auburn-haired goddesses. She'd left Steed without wanting to do him bodily harm. That was more than could be said for the good Dr. Gale. Gambit remembered Mrs. Gale. Their paths had crossed briefly a few years ago. It was only in retrospect that he made the connection, remembered her and the way she had ironically compared him to another man of action who apparently still rankled her, even from a distance. He also remembered what she could do with a rifle, and in unarmed combat. If all that anger had come from her time with Steed, Gambit wasn't certain he wanted to stick around.

But then it wasn't Mrs. Gale that was worrying him, not really. It was the place he had met her. How much did Steed know about that place, and what had happened? Gambit had fought so hard to bring the nightmares under control, to once more discipline his mind and body, to control them as he always had, to be a man and an agent that could be trusted with the lives of so many people when they hung in the balance. The nightmares were only really bad once a year now. He had it beat. Almost. He was certain of it. But if anyone could get into your mind and peel away all the defenses, it was John Steed. If Gambit wasn't careful, he could have McKay pulling strings and plopping him into desk duty before his head quit spinning. Gambit scowled and threw the blankets back. Like hell was he going to let that happen. John Steed may be a living legend, but he had also been a step out of the field for the better part of two and a half years, and from the sounds of things, he was a bit old-fashioned, too. He didn't have to beat him. He wasn't up to that just yet. Gambit knew when he was outmatched, and he knew he needed more time to study the man, not the files, before he could stand toe-to-toe. But he could put up a fight, and he might, just might, get out of this all right. After all, the only thing that seemed to work was the Dr. Keel method-stand up to the man. Either that or acquire an MD in a hurry.

That was the start of a plan, at least. Gambit climbed out of bed, settled onto the floor cross-legged, and started his morning workout.

The end of John Steed's brolly reached out and depressed Gambit's buzzer, releasing just before the penetrating shrill from within became irritating. A moment after he did so, the door opened, and Gambit appeared, fully dressed save for his jacket. Steed automatically cast an eye over the tailoring, noting with approval the fit of the waistcoat and the crispness of the light blue shirt. Gambit may not have shared Steed's conservative style, but the man's clothes were of undeniable quality.

"Good morning, Gambit," Steed greeted, beaming away. "I can call you Gambit? I didn't take you as one to stand on formality."

"That's fine," Gambit said levelly. He had a confident glint in his eye, and something told Steed that he'd have to keep one eye on his colleague and the other on the job at hand, at least for the time being. "Come in." He opened the door the rest of the way, and Steed removed his bowler before stepping inside. Gambit's flat was as modern as the rest of him, with a sleek black kitchen, well-stocked bar, and a living room decked out in some sort of white shag sheepskin. Steed avoided the couch, which seemed to be equipped with some sort of untrustworthy mechanism, and set his bowler and brolly on a spotless glass kitchen table. Gambit followed, heading for the kitchen. "Would you like some coffee?" he offered.

"Please," Steed accepted. "Milk, no sugar." He glanced around the flat a bit more as Gambit set about his task. There was a brick effect on one wall, while another housed his record collection, stereo, and a set of shallow alcoves lit up with multicolour lights. There was also a small raised area in one corner, housing a drafting board and a display case containing various examples of weaponry. A selection of crossbows was mounted on the wall.

"I see you stock your own armoury," he commented as Gambit handed him a cup and saucer.

Gambit glanced at the wall. "Yes, I've been collecting for a few years now. Some of the rarer examples are pretty hard to find, but I've got a Ministry salary to use on them now."

"Fascinating hobby," Steed replied, sipping his drink.

"I'm surprised you didn't know about it already," Gambit said flatly. "Or deduced it from the cut of my suit."

"The cut of a man's suit says nothing about his hobbies. Only his tastes."

"Isn't that the same thing?"

"Not at all. I know some very well-dressed people with some very unpleasant pastimes."

"Yes, I've read about those," Gambit mused.

Steed smirked, but didn't seem surprised. "Ah, I see you've been checking up on me. No wonder you accuse me of the same."

"Not checking up," Gambit clarified jauntily. "Catching up. On my reading. I haven't managed to get to the bookstore in awhile, and you and Mrs. Peel are always good for some entertainment."

Steed arched an eyebrow over his coffee cup. "Only Mrs. Peel?"

"Oh, I've skipped around a little—Mrs. Gale, Tara King. But Mrs. Peel's a favourite…" His eyes became distant, and Steed saw an almost dreamy expression cross the man's features. Steed didn't like it at all. "Woman like that," Gambit murmured, more to himself than anyone, a small grin tugging at his lips. "I'd count myself lucky if I happened across someone even half as brilliant."

"Well, keep your eyes open, and perhaps you will," Steed replied, a little sharper than he'd intended, and Gambit snapped out of his pleasant daze. "But at the moment there's only me, and we should be focusing on the job at hand."

"And what would that be?" Gambit queried, eyes mildly resentful, lips pursed, whether from Steed's interruption of his fantasy, or because he was unhappy with the assignment, Steed didn't know. He didn't particularly care, either. He hadn't liked the younger man's expression, particularly when Emma Peel was behind it. He produced the file he had brought along, slid it across the kitchen counter at the younger man with a hint of satisfaction. Gambit flipped it open disinterestedly, scanned the contents. "Wouldn't it be easier to just tell me what we're doing? Who we're supposed to be watching?"

"Delighted," Steed said with enthusiasm, but Gambit could hear a trace of sarcasm in the warm tones. "Roger Abbott."

"Our side or theirs?"

"That's what we're trying to find out. It may be that the answer is both, in which case we have some housecleaning to do. He's very high up in D16. I know, not one of ours," he added when Gambit frowned at the department's name. "But they'd rather someone from outside the family keep an eye on him."

"And that's us," Gambit finished, closing the file again. "Right, what's old Roger done to deserve the two of us breathing down his neck?"

"Deliveries," Steed said simply. "Sending, not receiving. Quite regularly, every two weeks. Now, there's nothing wrong with that in itself…"

"But when you've got access to a few hundred secret documents, everyone gets a bit touchy," Gambit finished with a sigh. "We're a paranoid lot, aren't we?"

"It pays off, sadly," Steed reminded. "More often than we'd like."

"Yeah. It's hard finding people to trust, isn't it?" Gambit murmured, not meeting Steed's eyes, but the older man could tell some old wound was surfacing, however briefly. "In every business," he added, then glanced up and tried to smile away whatever memory had chosen to haunt him. "Anything gone missing lately, any files been compromised?"

"Not as near as they can tell. People betray secrets all the time, of course, but there's no indication that he's been holding files for longer than necessary, making copies, anything of that sort. But he's due to send off another package, and we're to watch for it and, if need be, intercept it."

Gambit nodded to himself. "Sounds simple enough. Any idea how long it'll take?"

"I'm afraid not," Steed said truthfully, finishing his coffee and picking up his bowler and brolly. "We may be all day at it."

"I had a feeling you were going to say that," Gambit said with a sigh, reaching for his jacket. "That's the whole point, isn't it? Stick us together like sardines in a tin until someone snaps."

"McKay's always been one for endurance tests," Steed said with a smile. "But to show you I mean well, I'll buy us lunch."

"Which we'll eat in the car, of course," Gambit said knowingly. "No escape."

"Naturally."

Gambit shrugged on his jacket. "What happens if Abbott doesn't send anything out today?"

Steed smiled. "Well, then we're going to be spending a lot of quality time together until he does."

"Wonderful," Gambit said without much enthusiasm. "That had better be a good lunch," he muttered as he followed Steed out of the flat.

It turned out Steed owned a Range Rover as well, but then that shouldn't have been terribly surprising. The Ministry had recently begun subsidizing the purchase of such vehicles for its agents, if only so they would have a practical vehicle available when long chases led them over rough terrain. Steed's was a black model, whereas Gambit's was white, but the interior was more or less the same. Gambit liked cars and thought the Rover handled well, but it would never hold the place in his heart currently occupied by his shiny new Jaguar XJS, the product of his pay raise upon becoming a full agent. It handled like a dream, and Gambit was itching to test it in a proper chase. As yet the other side hadn't been obliging in providing him with a vehicular pursuit.

They didn't drive long, as it turned out-a quarter of an hour, maybe a little more, before Steed parked the Rover across the street from a stately brick home surrounded by a matching brick wall. The entrance was just visible in amongst the shrubbery, so it would be obvious if anyone chose to come or go, regardless of whether or not they could actually see what was going on in the house. Steed put the parking break in and released his safety belt, settled back and waited to see if Gambit would find the silence too oppressive and say something. A few minutes passed, but the younger man was staring resolutely out the window, seemingly uninterested in conversation at all. Steed had expected as much. After all, Gambit was convinced he was going to use something, anything, he said or did against him, and a man feeling hunted wasn't liable to offer up ammunition to the hunter. It would be up to Steed to break the ice and keep it broken.

"See anything?" he asked Mike, and he saw the dark curls shake.

"There isn't much of a view, and the bushes are blocking what's left," he replied, not bothering to turn Steed's way. "We won't know anything until someone pays a visit or decides to leave."

"Then we may be in for the long haul," Steed pointed out, settling back in his seat. "We'll have to find some way of passing the time, then."

Gambit did turn then, eyebrows raised. "What do you suggest? Game of cards?"

"I left my deck at home, I'm afraid," Steed replied, feigning regret. "But we can always talk, get to know one another a bit better." It wasn't just McKay's request that was pushing Steed, either. There was lots to know about Mike Gambit, Steed, had no doubt about that, and since a peek at his file was off-limits, at least for the moment, the solution was to go straight to the source.

Gambit snorted and turned to look back out the window. "I think we both know as much as we need to."

"Oh, come now. There must be plenty you couldn't find in the files. And I've gone nowhere near your file, so I'm certain you have any number of anecdotes to share."

"Nothing you'd be interested in," Gambit said curtly, crossing his arms. Almost defensively, Steed noticed. Why was Gambit so convinced he was under attack?

"Nonsense," Steed replied, putting on his most innocuous smile. "What about your time in the Navy? Surely you must have had an adventure or two there?"

Gambit sighed and looked heavenward. Steed really wasn't going to let up until he told him something, and Gambit's sanity couldn't take who knew how many hours of that painfully cheerful patter. He'd give him a little bit, just enough to get him to shut up, and then maybe he could sit here in peace.

"All right," Gambit agreed, turning in his seat so his head could fall back against the headrest. "If you're so damn interested, I joined the Navy when I was fourteen."

"That's a bit young, isn't it?" Steed said with a slight frown.

Gambit smiled ruefully, shook his head. "Not young enough as far as I was concerned. I wanted out, to feel free, see the world." Steed could tell he was holding something back, but didn't press. After all, it more or less spoke for itself. Boys of 14 did not leave for sea if they had happy home lives. But now was not the time to press Gambit for more information. "I loved it," Gambit went on. "Still miss it, sometimes. Never knowing where you were when you woke up in the morning. Those were the days..." He sighed, and looked vaguely wistful. "Met a lot of people, too. I'm still in touch with a few of my old shipmates. And Spence, of course."

Steed arched a surprised eyebrow. "Spence? You don't mean as in the Ministry's karate instructor? Our Spence?"

Gambit grinned, taking some pleasure in provoking a reaction. "That's exactly who I mean. Spence and I go way back."

"I'd no idea he was in the Navy."

"He wasn't. We were docked in Oslo, and I managed to get paralytically drunk and said a few things I shouldn't have. Ended up starting a fight I didn't have the slightest chance of winning. Spence was in the same bar and leant a hand to a fellow Brit. I'd never seen anyone fight like that before." He shook his head, as though still disbelieving all these years later. "Then he got me out of there fast. I told him I owed him one, and he said he'd been traveling and trying to get back to England and asked to hitch a ride on our ship. They probably wouldn't have let him if he hadn't known karate, and been willing to teach it to the rest of the boys. Kept some of us out of trouble when we docked. We didn't swing round to England for another eight months, so I learned a lot. He was the big brother I never had. And when I settled in London again, he taught me everything I know." Gambit smirked again. "Or at least, he thinks he has. I've supplemented quite a bit over the years."

"I can imagine," Steed agreed. "Do you ever regret it? Leaving so young? Missing school?"

Gambit sighed. "Sometimes, I guess. But I'm a firm believer in teaching yourself. If I can get a book on something, I'll sort it out on my own, and I don't think I do too badly that way, either. Of course, every once in awhile, I get an expert in. I, uh, find I learn better when the teacher's female."

Steed smirked. "I don't doubt it. Although I always found women tended to distract me from lessons."

"You were already at Eton. You could afford to be distracted," Gambit said wryly. "Anyway, it may sound odd, but I don't envy you your public school. I mean, I wasn't exactly born and bred to enter the halls of higher learning. Hard to miss what you never had a chance at in the first place."

"Well, we're not all meant to be gentlemen." It was a cheap shot, and Steed knew it, but it had slipped out anyway. Steed had never considered himself a snob, not in the most obnoxious sense of the word, but something about Gambit made him want to put the younger man in his place, even if he had to resort to class-consciousness. A little voice deeper down pointed out that he might be just a wee bit jealous of Gambit's unrestrained youth, while young John Steed had had to make his own fun within the confines of rigid schools, and on occasion had paid the price for it. And besides, the little voice added, you remember what McKay said. Gambit could be very good given the chance, good enough to take over the reins some day, and if he'd been learning karate and wracking up experience all over the world, he was entirely capable of catching up a bit faster than Steed would like. Catching up before retirement. But he just had to say it, no matter how petty it was, if only to see how Gambit would react.

To his surprise, Gambit snorted, not looking particularly upset. "You're not a gentleman," he said, quite frankly. "You just do a good impression of one. I've read all about Ruthless Bastard Steed from the early sixties, and I can see he's still in residence."

"Appearances overcome reality," Steed said mildly, inwardly pleased at Gambit's insight. More often than not, people were drawn in by the façade until it was too late.

"Plato," Gambit replied, picking up on the reference immediately, and he took pleasure in the mild surprise that flickered over Steed's face. "I told you I did a lot of reading. You can figure these things out without going to Eton."

"No helpful professor?"

A slow smile crossed Gambit's features. "Well, I did have a girlfriend who majored in Greek. She was doing her Ph.D. when I was with her. There was a whole education to be had there."

"In more than one area," Steed said knowingly, then snapped to attention when he heard a car approach. "Hold that thought. I think Abbott's about to receive visitors."

It was true. A lorry had just driven up and been allowed in through the gate. In the back were half a dozen large wooden crates. Gambit and Steed exchanged glances.

"If I boost you up I think I can get you over the top of the fence," Gambit offered.

Steed nodded. "We'll take the back. Less likely that anyone will spot us, including the neighbours."


	7. In the Dark

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I don't own The New Avengers, nor the characters of Mike Gambit, John Steed, and Thomas McKay. Sadly. They're the property of The Avengers (Film and TV) Enterprises. David Keel, Cathy Gale, Emma Peel, and Tara King belong to Canal+Image. This story is for entertainment purposes only. No copyright infringement intended.
> 
> Timeline: Zero in a series. Takes place in June, 1975, a full ten months before the start of the TV series. Those interested in the rest of the series are invited to read the subsequent stories in the arc.
> 
> For more information about the series, please see my profile.  
> \-----------------------------------------------------

Gambit was already climbing out of the Rover, and the pair of them hurried down the sidewalk out of sight of the house, before sprinting across the street and heading into the foliage that had grown in close to the back of the brick wall.

It was fairly high, but Gambit made a stirrup with his hands and elevated the senior agent enough for Steed to hike himself up to perch on the top of the wall. Steed used his new position to do a bit of surveillance, and caught a glimpse of a guard rounding the left corner of the house just before he disappeared from sight. Only then did Steed return the favour and offer Mike the handle of his umbrella to help him reach the same vantage point. They dropped to the ground in unison and set about brushing leaves off their shoulders.

"We need to get inside," Steed murmured quietly, eyes darting around as he sought out any potential observers. "Find a window, door, any way we can climb in unseen." He pointed to the left. "You take that side of the house. I'll take this."

"Right." Gambit nodded curtly before setting off around the same corner Steed had seen the guard disappear. Steed watched him go with a glint in his eye, then set off toward the other end of the house.

Gambit made his way quietly through the alleyway between the wall and house, left hand skimming lightly over the brick, eyes and ears open. The first thing he noticed was that several of the windows to the basement of the house had been bricked up recently. Gambit scratched at the fresh mortar and wondered why. He didn't wonder long, however, because it was at that moment that his sixth sense kicked in, and he spun to land a punishing blow to the stomach of the man that had snuck up behind him. He followed up with a neat chop to the right hand, and the man dropped his gun. Gambit kicked the weapon off to the side. The man, obviously a guard, backed away, and eyed up his opponent while he recovered. Gambit stood completely still, eyes fixed on the guard, feet placed for perfect balance, hands at his sides. The guard looked reckless enough to charge in, rather than wait his opponent out and let him make the first move. Gambit could see the wheels turning, the impatience and uneasiness. He held back a smile. The longer he stewed, the more likely he was to do something stupid. A few seconds ticked by. The guard did something stupid. He tried a straight charge, but Gambit twisted to the side, grabbed his jacket, and flung him to the ground, before setting upon him with a series of quick chops.

The last chop did the man in. Gambit dropped into a crouch to check that he was truly down for the count. But even as his fingers sought out the man's neck, footsteps sounded behind him, careful quiet footsteps that wouldn't be picked up by any less than a highly-trained ear. Gambit stopped breathing, let his heart slow down until he could no longer hear it in his ears. The footsteps were getting closer, and Gambit tensed for action. Just before they reached him, he spun, shooting upward at the same time. He was running on instinct, and it was only his quick reflexes that prevented him from landing an expert blow across Steed's neck.

"I take it you made out all right?" the senior agent asked unconcernedly, despite Gambit's raised hand. He leaned to one side so he could peer around Mike and examine the fallen guard. "Excellent. I see McKay didn't exaggerate your abilities."

Gambit lowered his arm, but his eyes narrowed in the process. "Did you know there was a guard around this way?"

"I suspected," Steed said blithely, turning his attention to the house. There was a window here, one that hadn't been bricked up, which obviously led to the first floor of the house. He ran a hand along the frame with the ease of a professional.

"And you couldn't have said something?" Gambit wanted to know, annoyance edging into his voice. "Given me a little warning?"

"You didn't need it," Steed replied distractedly, pulling a slip of metal from his pocket and setting to work on the window latch. "And if you had come out on the losing end, I was right behind you, with nothing but your best interests at heart."

Gambit's jaw tightened. "Really?"

"We are partners," Steed reminded, and flashed one of his charming smiles. "You watch my back, I watch yours."

"Funny," Gambit snapped. "Because from where I'm standing, it looks a lot more like hunter/bait, and I sure as hell wasn't playing the former."

"Now where on earth would you get that idea?" Steed tsked, voice dripping with innocence. An audible "click" sounded, and Steed smiled in satisfaction as the window latch sprang open. "Forty-five seconds. One of my best."

"You won't mind if I leave the congratulations for later," Gambit growled. "Answer the question."

"I don't believe you asked me one," Steed replied, carefully opening the window.

"You know what I mean. Did you use me as bait just now?"

"Does it matter if I did?"

"Yes."

"Duly noted. Shall we go?"

Gambit couldn't take it any longer, couldn't take that level voice and that damned unruffled composure. The man didn't even have the decency to look him in the eye. Well, that was enough of that.

Gambit reached out to seize the other man's collar, to at least pull him around so they were face-to-face. But Steed, damn him, was ready, and twisted in his grasp. Then suddenly it was Gambit on the defensive, and Steed was holding his brolly with both hands, using it to force Mike backwards until he was slammed against the brick wall. Gambit struggled, but the brolly was unyielding, the steel core pressing across his chest and digging into his shoulders.

"Now that wasn't very sporting." There was menace among the warm tones now, and the grey eyes were suddenly very cold. "And I had my back turned, too. You could have at least have had the courtesy to let me have the first move."

"What? Age before beauty? It's already not a fair fight," Gambit panted. Steed's brolly was pressing down hard on his chest, and making it difficult to breathe. He could still move his legs though, and Steed was close enough that he could do something with his fists even with limited mobility.

"Yes, there are probably about half a dozen ways you could do me a damage just now," Steed murmured, as though reading Gambit's mind. "And I happen to know just as many ways to counter them, so I'd choose wisely. Of course, it's entirely possible that you've picked up a few tricks I'm not aware of. In fact, I rather hope you have, since you did attack me. I'd be very disappointed if you jumped in without a plan. So if you're feeling confident, by all means, try your luck."

Gambit's eyes searched his face, and he knew Steed could see the wheels turning. He wasn't going to give him the satisfaction of looking nervous. All the odds should be pointing in his favour. Steed was older, after all, and he hadn't been in the field as much the past few years. But then he was experienced, too, and even though Gambit wasn't exactly a novice himself, he knew better than to second-guess Steed's own particular brand of fisticuffs. The dirty kind. There was a chance Gambit could surprise him, maybe even a good chance. But there was also the chance of being thumped, and that would be too hard to live down just now. Anyway, Gambit didn't really want to do the man a damage. Much. But that didn't mean he was going to roll over and die, either.

Steed knew Gambit was mulling over his options. He was quite interested to see what he did next. If Gambit really did try to best him in a fight, he was going to be very disappointed. Mike could be a bit headstrong, but he hadn't put him down as suicidal. But it was difficult to tell what a man would do when he was pushed.

"All right," Gambit said finally, and Steed arched an eyebrow in interest. "You're not a pushover. I'd sorted that much for myself. You're going to teach me a thing or two about the great John Steed, whether I want to hear it or not. Fair enough. But now we're going to listen to my side for a minute. There's something you ought to remember about Mike Gambit. Call it a refresher course."

Steed's eyebrow climbed higher. "Do tell."

"I don't like being used," Gambit said emphatically, and something in his eyes made Steed sit up and pay attention. "I'm not an idiot. I know this job's dangerous, and there's a pretty good chance I'm not going to live to collect my pension. I accepted that when I signed on. I only want one thing in return, and that's a so-called 'partner' I know isn't going to manipulate for his own convenience. If you want me to do something dangerous, ask, and I'll do it more often than not. But I have to know I can trust you to be straight with me. No games, no little side ventures. Tell me what I'm up against, let me in on the plan, and I'll stick with you to the end. But jerk me around one more time, and I'll walk." He paused, and smirked. "That last bit should sound familiar. How much would you wager that Dr. Keel and Mrs. Gale would agree with me?"

He had him there, Steed realized, and the younger man knew it. It was no secret Cathy and Keel had resented his tendency to put them in sticky situations with only half the facts. He'd even tried it once or twice on Mrs. Peel, but she hadn't stood for it any more than they had, and after that, Steed took great pains not to alienate her. After all, there was only one Emma Peel…

He removed his brolly, took one step back to give Gambit room while he stretched his arms. "All right," he agreed mildly. "No games, as you call them, but I'll hold you to your word and expect cooperation in return."

"If it's reasonable," Gambit added. "I don't mind taking orders, just not with only half the plan to go on."

"Agreed." Steed held out a hand. Gambit eyed it warily for a moment, then took it and shook firmly. Steed beamed.

"Right, then, I think it's time we went inside, don't you?"

Steed clambered over the window sill, leaving Gambit to follow. They found themselves in a darkened study. Gambit closed the window behind them while Steed flicked on the desk lamp and plopped his bowler over the top to dim the light. Without a word they both set about rifling through the desk drawers, glancing at the paperwork.

"Here's something," Gambit whispered, sliding a page into the dim pool of light. "Abbott's been ordering crates. Loads of them. You could ship more than files in those. Arms, maybe."

"Or something totally innocuous, but with microfilm stashed somewhere inside," Steed pointed out. "Size means nothing."

Gambit smirked to himself. "I'm not so sure about that."

"But you can be sure of this." The light flicked on suddenly, and Steed and Gambit glanced up to see a man in the doorway, a gun in one hand and the other on the light switch. He was tall and blonde with a mustache.

"Abbott," Steed identified, straightening up. "Fancy meeting you here."

"In my own study? Yes, it is a bit of a surprise. Particularly you, Steed. I suspected they'd send someone out to watch me one of these days, but you? I'm flattered." He jerked his gun at Gambit. "Who's your friend?"

"We're more like acquaintances, actually," Steed corrected, their little bout outside still fresh in his mind.

"Yes, well, it doesn't matter, really. You're both coming downstairs, anyway. No, hands up," he added, as Gambit's hand crept toward the inside of his jacket. "In fact, let's take care of that right now." He jerked his head, and four men filed in, all armed. They quickly surrounded Steed and Gambit and set about searching them for weapons. Gambit lost his gun, and Steed sighed unhappily when they relieved him of both bowler and brolly. Satisfied that they were clean, the guards nodded to Abbott, who indicated for them to exit the study via a second door neither of them had noticed, set in the study wall to their right. It looked like a broom closet, but it led to a steep, narrow flight of stairs, and Gambit and Steed were waved down it. Mike touched the walls as he went to steady himself on the perilous slope. They were damp to the touch, and he pulled away, desiring to make as little contact as possible.

When they reached the bottom they were confronted with several doors, all identical and made of a heavy metal, likely steel, each equipped with an observation slat. Abbott led them halfway down the hall, and Gambit could hear noises beyond the unyielding slabs as he passed. Human noises. Terrified noises.

A sudden heavy clang resonated through the darkness, and Gambit and Steed started in surprise, bodies tensing and ears seeking out the noise. A terrified yelp followed. Abbott appeared unconcerned.

"That's just the mechanism," he said blithely. "Each of these cells has a terribly high ceiling, and a very heavy cement block chained to it. The mechanism loosens the chains a random amount after an arbitrarily chosen amount of time. It's completely dark in the cells, so if you're inside, you never know when the block will drop and by how much. Eventually the uncertainty breaks a man down, and he becomes very cooperative." He wrenched open the door of the nearest cell. "I don't know how much you know or why exactly you've chosen to investigate me, but I'll wager once you've spent some time in here you'll be happy to tell me everything you know."

Steed arched an eyebrow at the cramped quarters. "Bit of a tight squeeze for two of us."

"Well, normally I'd split you up, but we're short on vacancies," Abbott said with an unpleasant smile. "But look at it this way. You'll have time to get acquainted. I'm sorry I can't say how much. It would ruin the excitement. But at the very least it ought to be meaningful. On the edge of death, I find everyone's terribly open and honest." He waved at the guards and they shoved both men inside unceremoniously, letting them stumble in and fall against the walls. "If you feel cooperative, however, do be sure to call," Abbott called after them. "After all, I have all the time in the world."

Then he shut the door, and for Gambit and Steed, the world was black.

John Steed finished checking the walls for any means of escape and sighed, settled down into his corner and tried to make himself comfortable so he could think. Above him, the mechanism clanked once, ominously, and Steed couldn't help but start at the sound, but before the echoes died away, he had forced his heart to slow back down. It was completely dark, so he couldn't gauge the block's progress, but Steed could hear breathing. Laboured breathing. Fast and hard.

"Gambit?"

There was no answer.

"Gambit?" Steed asked again, this time with genuine concern. "Are you all right?" He hadn't thought Gambit was the sort to break down completely, to lose his nerve, even in a situation such as this. Neither had McKay, obviously. But maybe McKay was wrong, although that didn't happen often. Maybe Mike Gambit had squeaked in under the psych department's radar, a ticking time bomb, waiting to go to pieces at a moment's notice, and take everyone else with him. Maybe that was why he didn't want a partner. He was afraid of getting him killed.

"I'm…" The word was more a gasp than an actual syllable. He could almost hear Gambit swallow, desperately trying to moisten a dry throat. "I'll be all right," he tried again, with a voice that shook so much it undercut any remaining credibility his words may have had. "I've been in better lodgings is all."

"Yes, they are a bit stingy with the lighting," Steed mused, going along with the thread of humour. "But don't worry. I'll have us out before the ceiling falls down."

"You've got a plan." Gambit said it flatly, tiredly, as a statement, not a question. Mike clearly wasn't hopeful about their prospects.

"Yes." It was a baldfaced lie, but it was dark and Gambit couldn't see his face, and Steed was fairly certain Mike wouldn't be able to tell from his voice alone, especially in his state. "But I'll need you to hold out as long as you can."

"I'm not a complete basketcase," Gambit half-snarled, half-protested. "Well, not for the reason you think, anyway."

Steed's ears pricked up. That was interesting. If Gambit wasn't panicking because of their situation, what had set him off?

"We could be crushed at any time," he pointed out. "Most normal people would find that at least mildly distressing."

Gambit snorted derisively. "Nobody in our line of work is normal," he said with half a chuckle. "I'm not thrilled about the idea of being reduced to a red smear at any moment, but I can handle it." He paused, clearly considering his next words. "It's the blasted cell," he said finally, and could almost hear Steed snap to attention in the dark.

"Don't tell me you suffer from claustrophobia?"

"No. Not really. It just…reminds me of something. Something I'd rather forget." And it did, too. The walls were exactly the right temperature, a lukewarm damp that sank into your bones if you leaned against it long enough. And with two people inside he could feel the heat rising. And not being able to see, only feel the brick beneath his fingers when he touched the wall. And the smell of fear and sweat sunk into the floor stinging his nostrils. And somewhere off to his left, a door with a slat, and the tormentors beyond. He came here in his nightmares, and the fear and despair was as omnipresent when he woke up as it had been when he was there. But it was the darkness that was the worst. They said it was a bad sign when you dreamt in black and white, but Gambit had dreams that were only black. Just that unyielding, yawning black. Sensory deprivation to the nth degree. And nothing but the smells and the rough of the wall and the pain to assure him that he was still alive, not some tortured spirit long-dead and haunting its tomb. Even the dimensions were about right—too small to lie down, just big enough to curl up. Everything was the same. Everything except…

Breathing. Someone else breathing. Steed. He'd been alone the first time, but this time around, there was another soul trapped here, someone else who knew he was alive and couldn't leave him hurting all alone in the dark. Steed may not have been his favourite person in the world up until an hour ago, but now….What had he read? Which file? He hadn't been supposed to read it, he remembered. Not without clearance. But Sandy from files was a friend, and he'd been bored, and John Steed's biography had seemed like a good choice at the time. Something had twigged with Gambit that day. He remembered Sandy asking if everything was all right, and Mike had looked down to discover his hands clutching the table edge until the knuckles were white. What had he read? He'd blocked it out for his own sanity. But it came back now. These things always came back to him in the end.

"Nee San."

Steed's head snapped up in surprise. Gambit had gone quiet, and Steed had left him alone for the time being while he tried to scrape together something that could be reasonably called a plan. He wasn't having much luck. Nothing that didn't involve very stupid guards falling for the sick prisoner cliché at any rate. But those two words were enough to pull him away from everything.

"Nee San." Gambit repeated, distantly, as though reciting from memory. "You were there. '59 I think it was. Four months. I read about it."

Steed swallowed. This wasn't the sort of talk he relished at any time, least of all now. "What of it?" he managed.

"If you ever feel like swapping stories," Gambit rasped, throat parched once more. "I think I could live up to my half of the bargain." Somewhere in the back of his brain, a little voice was saying: Are you mad? Offering to confide in John Steed? You're not even sure you can trust him, yet. You're not even sure you like him.

But a louder voice said: What does it matter? We're dead anyway.

That voice won.

And across their little cell, John Steed took a shaky breath, and Gambit heard it. Steed was shaken, and Gambit wasn't certain if he felt better for rocking that sold foundation or not. But what he heard next made him feel a bit better. Unequivocally.

"Shall you go first, or should I?"

And against all odds, Gambit heard his voice say: "I will."


	8. Sykes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I don't own The New Avengers, nor the characters of Mike Gambit, John Steed, and Thomas McKay. Sadly. They're the property of The Avengers (Film and TV) Enterprises. David Keel, Cathy Gale, and Emma Peel belong to Canal+Image. This story is for entertainment purposes only. No copyright infringement intended.
> 
> Timeline: Zero in a series. Takes place in June, 1975, a full ten months before the start of the TV series. Those interested in the rest of the series are invited to read the subsequent stories in the arc, Aftermath, Dance With Me, The Anniversary, Merry Christmas, Mr. Gambit, and Brazil.
> 
> For more information about the series, please see my profile.
> 
> Author's Note: Those interested in Steed's experiences at Nee San are invited to pull out their Emma Peel DVDs and give another look to Room Without A View. One of the weaker entries in season four, but pay attention when Steed describes the conditions at the camp to Emma. I get the feeling he hasn't only read about what goes on there...

The door opened suddenly, spilling painfully bright light into the darkness. Both Gambit and Steed cringed back involuntarily, shielding their eyes against the glare. Gambit peered through his fingers at the four armed guards standing in the doorway, mentally calculated the odds. Between the pair of them, he and Steed could probably disarm two, maybe three, but that always left number four, and while he would likely only have a chance to shoot one of them, Gambit didn't find that conclusion terribly comforting. He glanced Steed's way, hoping to pick something up from the senior agent's expression now that his eyes were beginning to adjust to the light, but it was impossible to read the squinted grey eyes. Even so, surely they both had a better chance of pulling something off if they were taken out of the cell as opposed to being left locked up? Gambit assumed that was what the entourage was for. It made little sense to open up the door and let the light in, and in turn let them see just where the ceiling was, when there was a neat little slat installed in the door itself which would enable their captors to check on them whenever they wished.

Gambit knew he was right the moment one of the guards jerked his gun upwards, indicating for them to stand. Steed and Gambit picked themselves up from the floor, uncurling stiff limbs in the cramped quarters.

"Mechanism break down, or are you out of vacancies?" Gambit quipped to one of their handlers, but all he received for his efforts was a glare. Gambit glanced over his shoulder at Steed. "Friendly bunch, aren't they?"

"Yes, if you've taken a vow of silence," Steed replied. "Or spend an inordinate amount of time at the library. Reading Plato, of course."

Gambit snorted at the reference, and their guards glanced from one to the other in faint bemusement. "In-joke," he murmured by way of explanation, eyes forever searching for an opening. "You had to be there."

"Just get moving," one guard barked, and started prodding them along. Gambit shrugged helplessly at the senior agent, and Steed nodded back. No chance now. Bide your time.

They were led upstairs, two guards in front and two behind, out of the dank basement and onto the first floor. Abbott's décor was a welcome change of surroundings, complete with beautiful antique furniture and polished hardwood floors. Their little band was led down a hallway and into a living area. Abbott was standing behind the couch, hands resting on the back. Steed's apprehended bowler and brolly were sitting on a lovely oak desk, along with Mike's revolver, and ID. Gambit noticed all the blinds had been drawn. Whatever was set to happen here, they didn't want witnesses.

That couldn't be good.

Abbott straightened up when he saw them, rounding the couch to make his way toward them. Gambit noticed Abbot's gaze was fixed on him. He frowned. He wasn't particularly worried, but it was a bit odd. Regardless of his own opinions, he knew in the grand scheme of things Steed was the prize catch. Gambit himself was just that little bit extra. And Abbott had more or less adhered to that assumption before they had been locked up. So why did Abbott suddenly seem so fascinated with him?

It was then that another man entered the room, and suddenly everything made sense.

"Sykes." Gambit growled the word, body tensing visibly, and the guards behind him stood a little straighter, paying their charges a little more heed. The man was just as he'd remembered—six foot, shock of black hair, built on the lanky side, face of a pirate. Which in Gambit's opinion, he more or less was. "What the hell are you doing here?"

"Gambit!" Sykes said cheerfully, walking over to meet him as though they were old friends reunited. "Mike Gambit! Now this is a surprise. I thought it had to be you. Not many Gambits about, so when Abbott here said he had you downstairs and handed me your identification, I knew I had to bring you up here. After all, I owe you a thing or two from the old days, starting with this." He pulled back his fist and landed a solid punch to Gambit's solar plexus. Steed's eyes widened in alarm as the younger man doubled over with a wheeze, hands going instinctively to his stomach. To his surprise, Gambit didn't cry out, just locked his jaw against the pain and breathed deep until it had subsided.

"Just like old times," Mike gasped, blue-green eyes glinting dangerously as he looked up at his attacker.

"Yes, it does take me back," Sykes agreed, smiling happily at Gambit's obvious distress. His attention wandered over to Steed, obviously seeking a bit of friendly conversation with his captive audience. "I don't suppose you've known Mike long?"

Steed shook his head. "No," he allowed. If Sykes was in a talking mood it was best to encourage him. When people were talking they had less time for more unpleasant things, and were more likely to let their guard down.

"Pity. Great pity. He was quite the lad back in the day. And I do mean lad. How long's it been? Fifteen years?"

"Not anywhere near long enough," Gambit muttered, wincing as he slowly straightening up.

Sykes tsked. "It has been awhile. I knew Gambit when he was in the navy. He told you he was in the navy, didn't he? Of course it doesn't matter if he did-walk gives it away every time. Do you know, I had half a dozen men his age, all from his ship, ready to turn a blind eye to the contents of half a dozen, ah, special, crates, and Gambit here put a stop to the whole enterprise. Not very sporting. And I don't imagine it made him terribly popular with certain members of his crew, either."

"Really?" Steed said with genuine interest. Gambit had obviously been making a habit of righting wrongs as he saw them, and that boded well. Most men at Gambit's age—around 17—would have been more than keen to take the bribe and turn a blind eye. But clearly Mike Gambit didn't respond well to persuasion, monetary or otherwise. He filed away the information for future use.

"I wasn't very happy, either. We shut down your operation, but we never did catch you," Gambit pointed out. "Free to smuggle another day."

Sykes made a face. "I don't smuggle, Gambit. I, uh, transport certain goods of a delicate nature. Special delivery if you will."

"Smuggler," Gambit repeated, rubbing his stomach ruefully. "Good one, too. Just as well not everyone can be bribed. Otherwise you might get bored. Not much of a challenge."

Sykes smirked. "You did keep me bored for a little while, Gambit, I'll admit. I couldn't run much of anything after the ring was broken. But since then I've moved into a whole new field of work. Most rewarding and very well-paid."

He paused for effect. Gambit's murderous gaze didn't flinch. "Do we really have to go through the script?" he snapped. "Because I'm really not in the mood to play captive audience while you ramble on about how clever you are."

Sykes frowned. "Now, Gambit, surely I'm entitled to a little fun."

"Come a little closer and I'll give all the fun you could want."

"Well, if you're going to be like that…" Sykes turned his attention to Steed. "There's always Mr. Steed here. I'm sure he'd be happy to know what I've been up to."

"Do tell," Steed agreed, face the picture of interest.

"Excellent! You could learn from this one, Gambit."

Gambit's mouth twisted a little at the well-worn refrain. "So I've been told."

"Well, you see, about a year ago I crossed paths with Abbott. It's not terribly important how we met. He's made a deal with the other side, you see. Selling information. Only all the files he's in charge of are very well-monitored. If he were to view a file, and then it ended up in the wrong hands, well, people would get suspicious, wouldn't they? So what else could he possibly sell? What else would he be in charge of that would be a source of information?"

Gambit and Steed's heads turned in unison, and their eyes locked. "Agents," they said as one.

"Yes, very good! Even Gambit's getting into the spirit. Agents! Sykes knows where they'll be on assignment, agents from all departments. People expect you lot to get captured in the line of duty, so it's not terribly suspicious. But then we provide a little extra service. We install them in those rooms downstairs. The basement goes down very far. High ceilings. Well, you've seen them for yourself. A few days in there, with the dark and the constant uncertainty, and something snaps. Then we ship them along, all nicely softened up to their buyers, who extract all the information they require. Naturally I see to it that they arrive intact."

Gambit's eyes were cold. "Human trafficking. That's a new low, even for you, Sykes."

Sykes smirked. "You've not always been a saint yourself, Gambit."

Gambit smirked grimly. "Never said I was, but at least I don't make a habit of selling people."

Sykes shrugged carelessly. "We all have to make our way in the world," he said mildly. "Besides, if there weren't people like me, there'd be no one for boy scouts like you to chase. And then how would you impress the ladies?"

Steed noticed Gambit's self-satisfied smirk and couldn't help but mirror it himself. "I have a feeling I'd be all right," Mike said dryly.

"Well, you won't be when I'm done with you. I don't know how much the pair of you have pieced together about our operation, but you certainly know too much now. Normally I'd kill you, but that seems a waste. I've just been handed two top Ministry agents. Well, I assume you've got in with that lot, Gambit, seeing the sort of company you're keeping. The great John Steed."

"Yes," Gambit said, somewhat begrudgingly. "The great John Steed. Keep it up and his head will be too swelled to fit his bowler."

"Oh, a good old fashioned rivalry. I like that. What is it? Master and pupil? You have my sympathies, Mr. Steed. I tried my best with the boy. He simply cannot be taught. Not unless someone's knocked some sense into his head in the past fifteen years."

Steed smiled slightly, glanced Gambit's way. "Oh, I don't know. I think Gambit has great potential. Perhaps we've all been taking the wrong approach." The grey eyes locked with Gambit's meaningfully, and Mike nodded slightly to confirm he'd gotten the message. Steed was making a pact. At this point, Gambit was willing to take it. And now that he was sure he had Steed onside, he thought he could get them out of this as well.

"Hmm," was all Sykes cared to say on the topic, and moved back over to where Gambit stood. "Well, we'll see how well he learns to adapt to that cell. I don't imagine the pair of you will be as easy to break as the others, but everyone has their limit. It will be very satisfying to see you reduced to a sniveling basketcase."

Gambit snorted. "I'll be a red stain on the floor before that happens," he said unconcernedly, and allowed himself a small smile when the man winced. "Did I say something wrong?"

"We're not going to discuss this," Sykes said sharply, and turned on his heel to walk away. "Take them back downstairs."

Time! Gambit's eyes screamed at Steed. I can get us out, but I need more time!

"Someone will come looking for us," Steed said quickly, and Abbott and Sykes froze, turned to focus their attention on him. "The Ministry assigned us to watch your house. If we go missing, they'll know they were right to be suspicious. That'll lead them straight to the source, to you."

"Every other agent we've taken was on assignment when they went missing. They're no different," Sykes countered, looking to Abbot.

"No, he's right," Abbott argued. "The link's too strong. The fact that they're here means I'm already under suspicion. I can't afford to have them go missing when I'm involved, no matter how indirectly."

"Well, what do you suggest we do? Kill them? Because that won't look any less suspicious when they're found."

"Not to mention the mess," Gambit said cheerfully. "Depending on how you do us in. Blood and guts. Brains all over the wall."

"Stop it!" Sykes screamed. "Not another word!"

Gambit feigned confusion. "Sorry, did I say something wrong?"

Sykes was seething. "You know exactly what you said!"

"All I did was mention something warm and sticky that smells of iron," Gambit said innocently. "What's it called? Oh, yes. Blood." He watched Sykes' face contort with a great deal of pleasure. He noticed Steed's puzzled features and tried to explain. "Old Sykes here had a bit of a phobia. Can't stand blood—the word, the smell, the description. I broke his nose last time we met, and he nearly had a nervous breakdown."

"Don't. Say. That. Word," Sykes growled, storming up to Gambit and thrusting his face up to his. "Not once more, I'm warning you."

"All right, all right. Don't get your knickers in a twist," Gambit replied, seeming to back down. "Bloody hell, you're in a state."

That did it. Sykes' first punch was aimed straight for Gambit's jaw, but Mike seemed to be ready for it, rolled with the force as his head snapped to the side. But the second hit he couldn't dodge, the one aimed straight for his stomach. Sykes grabbed Gambit as he doubled over and pulled him closer so he could put his knee in as well. Gambit slumped against him before falling to the ground like a sack of potatoes. Steed winced in sympathy. If Gambit made a habit of that sort of thing, he wasn't going to live to be 35.

"Not so funny now, is it?" Sykes spat as his men started to pull the gasping Gambit to his feet. Steed caught a glimpse of the man's face as he got up. Even though it was contorted with pain, he managed to meet Steed's eyes. And winked. Steed bit back a smile and set about preparing himself. He knew he'd be needed soon.

Gambit closed his eyes, mentally steeling himself, letting the pain wash away. He thought Steed had understood. He had to. Otherwise they weren't going to get out of this alive. He gulped down a couple of deep breaths. Sykes' blows had hurt, he couldn't deny it. His body couldn't deny it. But he didn't have time to give in to them just now. Sykes would have them sent away soon, back down to that damned cell, and they wouldn't have another chance. Here it was. The moment of truth.

"Do you know what it is that gets people in trouble?" he asked as conversationally as possible, wrenching open his eyes in spite of the pain and looking to Steed, hoping he'd pick up his half of the dialogue.

"Do tell," came the response. Gambit smiled internally. He knew he shouldn't have doubted him. He was the great John Steed, after all.

"Habits," he answered, and Steed arched an interested eyebrow.

"Bad ones? Biting your nails? Forgetting to lock up before you leave?"

"Anything," Gambit replied. "Habits, routines, they'll be the death of you if you're not careful."

Steed smiled wryly. "Yes, I've been in a bit of a rut myself lately. If it's possible to be bored to death I've had one foot in the grave for months."

Really? Gambit certainly hadn't been expecting that. John Steed made his own excitement. Wasn't that the driving force behind every one of those rumours in the break room? How did someone as revered by the enemy as his own side end up in a routine? No wonder you're so interested in me. I'm your ticket out of the office. That is, if Steed was telling the truth, and not simply feeding him lines. You never knew with Steed.

"But they're particularly dangerous in a job like this one," Gambit went on. He could see Sykes and Abbott trading quizzical glances. Good. The more off-balance they were, the better it was for Steed and Gambit.

Steed sucked air in through his teeth in agreement. "Terrible. It's gotten to the point that you can't settle in for your weekly program without worrying that someone's drawn a bead on your favourite chair."

"Poisoned your pint at your local," Gambit commiserated.

"Highly inconvenient."

"And if it's deadly in your personal life, it's even worse when you're actually on the job."

Steed widened his eyes in horror. "Oh, you wouldn't dare. Not in the field."

"The only way you should be predictable—"

"—is by remaining unpredictable. In every area."

"Tricks, strategies…"

"And weapons. You would think fifteen years on someone—Sykes, say-would relocate his pocketknife. Particularly when someone knows from experience where he hid it last time. Put it in another pocket, at least. Or someplace else. Like here." Steed barely glimpsed the blade as it slid out of Gambit's sleeve before it was whizzing through the air and piercing Sykes' chest right below the left shoulder. He didn't wait for the rest of the occupants of the room to react. Instead he simply grabbed the gun of the man to his left and used it to swing him round into the man to his right. The pair stumbled into one another and went down in a tangle. Steed stepped around them quickly so he could reach his bowler, grabbed it and landed a blow to each head with a metallic clang. Then he snatched up the brolly, unsheathed it in one quick motion, and leapt over his vanquished opponents to dash after the fleeing Abbott. The rapier-thin blade slashed across the traitor's path, biting into the wood near his shoulder. He froze and eyed Steed wearily. The senior agent smiled beatifically.

"I wouldn't if I were you," he said mildly, casting a quick glance over his shoulder to see how his new partner was making out.

Gambit, as it happened, had done fairly well for himself. At the same time Steed had launched his attack, Gambit had seen to it that each of his elbows were introduced to one of his handlers. The first doubled over wheezing, but the second proved much more hardy. He swung back and Gambit only just managed to duck in time, bring his forearm up to block the follow-up blow, and twist the offending arm behind the man's back before sending him crashing to the floor with a boot to the bottom. By now the first man had recovered, and chose that moment to attack from behind, wrapping his arms around Gambit's neck and squeezing. Mike grunted, struggled, then got another elbow in before flipping the man over his shoulder onto the floor. Then he dropped into a crouch and landed a neat chop to the man's neck. Steed looked just in time to catch the technique, eyed up the blow and concluded that it had been made by an expert, noted with approval how the man folded up like a sack of potatoes. Something moved out of the corner of his eye, and Steed glanced up just in time to see Sykes, hand clutching at the knife wound, pushing open a window near the front of the room. Still occupied with Abbott, Steed looked back to his new colleague. "Gambit! Sykes!"

Mike twisted in his crouch, caught sight of Sykes. What Steed saw next was nothing short of amazing. In one smooth motion, Gambit went straight from crouch to sprint, heading straight for the desk. Only a foot or two away he left the ground, sailed through the air, hit the desk, grabbed his gun, rolled, and was on his feet, safety off, gun trained on Sykes before the man could put so much as a foot outside.

Judging from the man's gobsmacked expression, Steed clearly wasn't the only one impressed with Gambit's acrobatics. Now the younger man was closing the distance between himself and his old adversary, moving with the grace of a cat stalking its prey.

"Get away from the window," Gambit said quietly.

Sykes snorted in spite of himself. "Or what? You'll kill me? You didn't have the guts to shoot me last time, Gambit, and I doubt you'll do it now, even if it's only because you want to see me brought to justice."

"Who said I had to shoot you?" Gambit replied, mouth twitching evilly. "I was seventeen, Sykes. I've learned a few tricks since then. I know how to do much, much more than just break your nose"

"But did you learn to duck?" Gambit hadn't been expecting Sykes to have the fortitude to pull the knife out of his shoulder in light of his squeamish nature, much less be able to throw the blade with reasonable accuracy when it was slick with blood. But throw he did, right toward Gambit's gun hand, and the way it glanced off the weapon even as he ducked out of the way made Gambit drop his gun. Sykes was on the move again, but Gambit wasn't planning on letting him get very far. He ignored the fallen weapon and sprinted to the window, grabbed Sykes by the collar and hauled him back. Sykes spun, swung, missed, and took the full impact of Gambit's fist with his nose. The man' eyes crossed and he went down in a heap. Gambit flexed his fingers experimentally, then looked over to see how Steed was faring.

"Like some handcuffs?"

"For him, not me," Steed clarified, and Gambit produced a pair from inside his jacket, threw them across the room. Steed caught them one-handed and proceeded to handcuff Abbott to the radiator. Only then did he move to join Gambit at the window to look down at Sykes.

"I think I broke his nose. Again," Mike murmured when Steed was within hearing range, watching the blood bubble out of the fallen man's sinuses. "All that karate and the right hook I had at seventeen saved the day."

"Saved the end of the day, you mean. Don't forget that little tuck and roll earlier," Steed reminded.

Gambit looked at him blankly for a moment. "Oh, that." He shrugged. "Just instinct."

"Best instinct I've seen in a long time," Steed complimented.

"Yeah, well, this last bit wasn't terribly original."

"Originality can, on occasion, be overrated," Steed said, with a pat on the younger man's shoulder. "I think we ought to see about restraining the rest of our friends before they come to. Then I'll make a call to McKay."


	9. The Deal

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I don't own The New Avengers, nor the characters of Mike Gambit, John Steed, and Thomas McKay. Sadly. They're the property of The Avengers (Film and TV) Enterprises. This story is for entertainment purposes only. No copyright infringement intended.
> 
> Timeline: Zero in a series. Takes place in June, 1975, a full ten months before the start of the TV series. Those interested in the rest of the series are invited to read the subsequent stories in the arc.
> 
> For more information about the series, please see my profile.
> 
> \----------------------------------------

Steed made his way down the corridor to McKay's office, just as he had the day before. But this time it was not McKay he was planning to see. It was Gambit. The younger man had been called to the Ministry head's office shortly after Gambit and Steed had returned from Abbott's, and Steed was getting restless. He'd only managed a brief report during his call to Tommy, but he hoped it had been enough to persuade McKay to not only keep Gambit on, but also to send him Steed's way if at all possible. Steed knew a good agent when he saw one, and Steed was certain if he spent more time with Gambit he could make him an even better one. He still didn't like thinking about that dark day off in the future when fieldwork became literally impossible, but when it did, he thought it would take the sting away if the man replacing him had at least absorbed part of his repertoire, even if he put his own spin on it. Gambit was entirely capable of filling that role, although he doubted Mike would be too sanguine about the prospect at the moment. But there was time enough for all of that. Until then, filling the position of good friend and colleague wouldn't go amiss.

He reached McKay's office door and debated whether or not to knock, wait, or make a circuit and pretend he was simply happening along when Gambit came out. As it happened he didn't have time to make a choice before the door swung inward and Gambit appeared, closing it softly behind him. When he saw Steed he froze, hand on the knob.

They faced each other now, the darkness stripped away, leaving them vulnerable to the light and everything it revealed. They hadn't really had a chance to discuss what they had divulged in the cell over…how many hours? One? Two? Steed had lost track of time what with the dark and the memories, both swallowing himself and the younger agent up as they recounted their relative ordeals, experiences they would never dare discuss so openly in the light of the day, had never really properly discussed with anyone, ever. Grey eyes locked with blue-green ones, and John Steed read the message behind them as clear as if it were printed on his face.

Trust me, and I'll trust you. Just give me a reason, and I'll watch your back while you watch mine. But I need a reason. And now you know why.

Steed nodded, partly to himself, partly to Mike, and he saw the flicker of recognition in the younger man's eyes. A pact. No words were needed. They'd already trusted one another with the darkest hours of their lives, stories which would never be repeated without the other's permission. Trusting each other with anything else seemed simple in comparison.

To his surprise, and he suspected Gambit's too, Mike raised his right hand, offered it to Steed to shake, just as the senior agent himself had done a scant 24 hours before. A million years ago. And Steed had been rejected.

"It's been an honour," Gambit said, quite sincerely, because it had, really. Steed was a bit old-fashioned, but he knew when to spare feelings and embarrassment, when to keep quiet. When to lock things away and not let them out again. When to stop playing games.

Steed reached out and shook it, sealing the deal with a smile. "The honour was all mine," he replied. "I look forward to working with you again, if you can see your way to joining my stable." He meant it, too. Gambit had shown quick thinking and impressive fighting skills against Sykes, and their little bit of banter had left Steed convinced there was more to discover when it came to Mike Gambit. For the first time in years, he actually looked forward to another foray into the field with a fellow agent. Because he felt that, somewhere along the line, Mike Gambit could fulfill the most important requirement when it came to Steed's partners.

Friend.

"Of agents or horses?" Gambit quipped, releasing Steed's hand. Moment over. Move on. Back to the jokes. Steed could work with that. He turned and set off down the corridor, and Gambit fell into step beside him.

The Ministry's main corridor was unusually crowded, a steady stream of all manner of personnel coming and going. Gambit, still looking at Steed, felt a light impact as someone moving in the opposite direction clipped shoulders with him. "Sorry," Gambit apologized automatically, not bothering to see who it was.

"My fault," a woman's voice replied, already drifting away as she carried on without stopping.

"What will you do now?" Steed queried, oblivious to the encounter. "If you have a moment, there is a file that needs attending to."

Gambit shook his head. "I don't think I've got the time. McKay wants me to take an overseas assignment. A solo one." He grinned at Steed, and Steed couldn't help but grin back. "He must be desperate because he didn't even mention a partner. Either that or you put a word in for me. Anyway, he's got me interested, so you'll have to wait until I get back. Apparently there's a mess in Germany and the West half of Berlin wants one of us over there to help." He froze suddenly, stopping short in the middle of the hall, forcing the flow of people to maneuver around him. Steed frowned.

"Gambit?"

Mike wasn't listening. It was that voice, the woman's. For whatever reason it had drifted into his consciousness and elected to stay there. It rang through his mind, clean and crisp, and with it came the sweet scent of perfume. Something about that voice, that girl, was special, significant. Gambit whirled round in hopes of spotting her, but she had already disappeared, probably around the corner and then to any number of destinations. It would be impossible to catch her again now. Gambit worked his jaw in frustration, wondering why he cared so much about a stranger he had never seen, only heard. But something about her had made him feel…better. Just for a moment. He sighed, and turned back to Steed. If she worked for the Ministry, there was a chance he'd find her again. He'd make a point of paying attention to everyone in the typing pool.

"What was all that about?" Steed asked in bemusement.

Gambit shook his head. "Nothing," he murmured, starting to move again. "I just…thought I heard someone I knew."

Steed didn't pursue the matter, simply fell into step beside the younger man. "Well, when you return from Germany I'd like you to at least consider joining my cache of agents. I think you've shown great promise."

Gambit smirked in spite of himself. "Surprised you want me."

"Yes, so am I," Steed said with a matching smirk. "But I've had my share of partners, and I think I know when I've met my match."

"I may not always agree with you," Gambit warned.

"Excellent. No sense in having the same view on things."

"You may regret that."

"I'm sure I will. But I'm willing to take that chance." Steed stopped and regarded him pointedly. "Can I count on your transfer?"

Gambit eyed him carefully, then nodded, once. "All right…" he allowed. "I'll give it a try."

"Marvelous! I think that calls for a drink," Steed enthused, continuing down the corridor.

Behind them, a young woman with a mane of long blonde hair poked her head around the corner at the end of the corridor and scanned the crowds with bright blue eyes. She bit her lip as whatever she was searching for proved elusive. Not surprising. All she had to go on was a single word and the feeling of a strong shoulder against hers. And yet, for an instant she'd felt something more.

"Come on, Purdey!" a fellow trainee agent urged somewhere off to her left. "If we're late Spence'll use us for the next demonstration."

"Coming," the blonde replied, turning away with a sigh. Her man was long gone. She left the corner and set off down the corridor. There was always a chance she'd run into him again. Literally.

"One of these days…" she promised herself, and hurried to catch up with her companion.

End

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author's Note: Okay, so I lied a tiny bit. It's not quite a Purdey-free zone, but if I'd told you that at the start I'd have spoiled the surprise.
> 
> Purdey is the property of The Avengers (Film and TV) Enterprises, used for entertainment purposes only. No copyright infringement intended.


End file.
